Healing Hands
by SimplyWalkingintoMordor
Summary: When a doctor wakes up in ME, she struggles to search for a way home whilst finding herself caught up in the problems of the new land. Tenth walker, hopefully not Mary-sue NEW REWRITE AS OF 28/01/14
1. Chapter 1, The End

**A/N: I started this fic several years ago but my studies got in the way, I'm restarting it with the help of my beta Out of Books and rewriting everything. New readers, welcome, old readers… sorry! **

**A/N 2: Reviews are always lovely, you can also keep up to date with the fic on tumblr, with more notes on research and general Tolkien-y stuff **_HealingHandsFic tumblr com_

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I sat and stared at the blank page in front of me, who would have thought that the pale perfection of a new page in a new journal could be so intimidating? _No one is ever going to bother reading this._ I chided myself gently. The book was a gift, given to me by a dear friend who had promised there was a certain healing to be found in laying down the details of an adventure, of letting the words pour from you into the forgiving pages of a journal. I took a deep and forced myself to form the first words of my story.

_Unlike many tales, mine begins with an ending…_

**Oo0oO**

The jarring beeping of my alarm clock forced me out of the warm cocoon of blankets and had me stumbling across my bedroom floor to shut off its shrill noise. A quick glance out the window showed the faint glow of the sun touching the western clouds as twilight beckoned in the dark cloak of the evening.

Blearily stumbling into the bathroom, I peered at my reflection in the mirror. Working nights at the hospital didn't suit me at all; I'd seen corpses less pale. I grimaced and poked the dark circles under my eyes pondering if it was worth hiding them with makeup: I doubted it. Exasperated with my woeful appearance I sighed out loud and sought the comfort of a hot shower.

I was still three years away from qualifying in my specialty, which translated to being given the worst shifts in the most overstretched departments, doctors fresh out of university were passed around the hospital to fill in the gaps in timetabling that nobody wanted to. So here I was, getting ready to spend Saturday night in Accident and Emergency, busy didn't begin to cover it, it was going to be a warzone.

I should probably introduce myself, I'm Doctor Eleanor Pierce, Ellie to practically everyone. I'm 24 and working towards a speciality in paediatrics; though at the moment I was treating both adults and children. I'm not very tall, generally it doesn't bother me but at 5'2" there is no dignified way to reach the top shelf, the student years of not bothering to cook for myself or go to the gym had left me curvy, if not a little on the fat side but that was slowly disappearing with a regime of fourteen hour shifts and running around the hospital from patient to patient.

My dark brown hair was curly and it was often in wild disarray, the practical thing to do would have been to have it cut short, but I'd never quite been able to bring myself to do it. I raked my fingers through its length and tied it up into messy bun. My eyes are green, especially when they're unattractively bloodshot from lack of sleep, as they were at that moment.

I locked the door to my flat and set off for the hospital at a brisk pace, it was within walking distance which almost made up for its cramped size, almost. But finding a new flat was way down on my 'to do' list, I hadn't had time to see anyone outside of work in weeks.

It was now fully dark and the night air was chilly, the street-lights bathed the pavements in glowing pools but made the shadows in between more pronounced, something about the darkness was unnerving, I quickened my pace.

Within minutes the brightly lit hospital came into view and a wailing ambulance streaked past me, I felt the building tension drain away, the hospital was safe ground, it was practically home. I headed across the darkened car park towards Accident and Emergency.

It was then that he struck, I shouldn't have let my guard down when I caught sight of the hospital, but I did. I screamed but nobody heard, another noise lost in the hubbub of the busy hospital. No one even looked our way and in the semi-darkness I saw a flash of metal. The breath was knocked out of me and I doubled over clutching my stomach as my handbag was yanked away. The man took off at a sprint and I stumbled after him, losing my footing after just a few steps. I tried to get up but my limbs felt impossibly heavy, in the light cast off from the hospital I saw that my hand was coated with my own blood, it was almost black in the dimness.

I stared at it in astonishment for several heartbeats, I was bleeding, I watched expanding pool of blood on the tarmac in a daze.

"Help...Help me!" "I called, but like a dream, no one in the bright lights so very close by heard my meagre scream. It's a strange feeling, watching your own life slip away, I tried and failed to sit up and stem the flow of blood.

A dark chill settled over me, blotting out the bright lights of the hospital and dragging me into its icy embrace. I was a doctor, the sensible part of my mind registered that I was going into deep shock, that with a loss of consciousness, death would surely follow. I fought the darkness, kicking out and was rewarded with a brief glimpse of the lights once more before I was drowning, dragged into the darkness. The coldness was fading, everything was fading. Even as my world faded to black and my life slipped away, I remember my last thought with absolute clarity - _not yet, please not yet_.


	2. Chapter 2, The Beginning

When I blinked open my heavy lids I was met with the sight of an old man towering above me, his nose was hooked and beak-like and his dark eyes were set deep into his lines face giving him an overall disturbingly similar appearance to a bird of prey.

I shivered, realising to my embarrassment that I didn't have any clothes on. I hurriedly covered myself with my hands, my eyes flicking around the room for my clothes or frankly anything. I was met with the sight of a stone circular room filled with strange knick-knacks; books and scrolls were piled high on every surface, detailed mechanical drawings and maps of places I had never seen were pinned to every wall, but there was no sign of my clothes.

A foot collided with my ribs and I winced, glaring up at the old man angrily. He spoke sharply, his dark eyes harsh, but the words were incomprehensible, I'd never heard anything close to his language in my life.

"Where are my clothes?" I demanded, as my mind scrambled to remember how I had gotten here. It had been dark, I was walking to work... my mind shied away from remembering further. I felt a wave of nausea. Dear God, I hoped he hadn't done anything whilst I was unconscious.

The old man threw up his hands and tossed some balled up fabric at me, despite the language barrier, he seemed to have understood that much. I straightened it out to reveal a dark woollen shirt, thankful of the cover; I hurriedly slipped the scratchy wool over my head and stood.

Now that I was no longer viewing him from the floor I saw that the old man stood at least six feet tall. His grey hair fell past than his shoulders and his beard flowed down to his waist, he was oddly clothed, choosing to array himself in a white robe. Mental patient, I surmised; my growing fear mingling with my confusion as I stared at him.

"He started to approach me, and having learned my lesson for the foot to the ribs, I stayed just a few steps out of reach. He was not going to get close enough to touch me again, however panicking wasn't going to help either. Thinking back on it, I could understand how someone looking in would find this situation funny. Me running around, almost naked, in a circular room to escape from a madman in an oversized dressing gown - at the time, however, my heart was drumming too rapidly in my chest from terror to find the humour in the situation.

He barked out something commandingly, but I had no intention of stopping, I dodged around him to the door and twisted the handle frantically.

He reached for a long pole with a grey orb set into a frame on top, he wasn't looking any saner. The door remained stubbornly unmoved as he flicked the top of the staff in my direction and strode towards me, I tried to back away but I was rooted to the spot. My mind scrambled for a reasonable explanation, hypnotism? It would explain the memory loss.

A reluctant statue, I watched helplessly as he came close, for the first time I noticed the wickedly sharp nails at his fingertips. Had I had use of my limbs I probably would have lashed out like a cornered animal. To my relief, he simply rested his hands on my head and began to mumble unintelligibly, I opened my eyes and stared, his face was strained in concentration as he spoke.

"...simple translation incantation," he said as he backed away, I felt whatever was holding me still relax a little, like loosening coils of rope; I shifted experimentally breathing a sigh of relief when my limbs obeyed me, though the sensation of being paralysed lingered as if it would return with a click of the madman's fingers.

My kidnapper straightened out a scroll and dipped a quill into a pot of ink, in my opinion, he was taking this medieval wizard delusion far too seriously.

"Tell me about the weapons of your land." He commanded, his quill poised just above page in readiness.

I stared at him for several heartbeats.

His dark eyes flashed thunderously. "Speak! I do not take kindly to those who waste my time."

"Erm, guns, bombs...k..knives." On the last word I hesitated, feeling a strange shiver of recognition, whatever it was my mind reeled a little.

"I know of the others but explain to me the operation and use of a gun." He demanded, the quill already scratching out foreign spider-like runes on the paper.

"Well, it uses gunpowder to propel a small piece of metal at a high speed to cause damage."

He stared at me with rapt attention, "blasting powder is used as a means of propulsion? How do you prevent the machine from exploding in the operator's hands?"

I swallowed; spending my time trying to fix the damage caused by guns had left me with little inclination to learn anything more than the basics. "I don't know. I'm not an expert in such things." I admitted hesitantly.

He narrowed his eyes and wrote a little more on the parchment, "It was a mistake to kill the one who knew of blasting powder." He muttered to himself.

Fear jolted through me, kidnapping and delusions were cause for concern but if he had actually killed someone then I was in a whole lot more danger, I wondered if I could get to a phone.

"You can be of some use to me at least." He declared as he strode across the room and fastened his hand around my arm with surprising strength for a man his age. Without saying anything further I found myself being unceremoniously dragged from the room and up a spiral staircase. I stumbled in places but his hand on my arm was like a steel vice, keeping me upright as my bare feet I caught brief glimpses from the windows of snow-capped mountains and rolling plains, I was a long way from home and it was definitely not good.

I was breathless by the time we reached the top of the stairs, but strangely the madman didn't seem the slightest bit ruffled. He flung open a heavy wooden door and pushed me through, I stumbled and regained my balance to be met with the sight of another old man, more shabbily dressed than the first, huddled miserably on the platform. Beyond him was a panoramic view of the vibrant landscape I had seen snatches of through the tower windows.

During my brief slip of attention the situation between the two old men had gotten tense.

"Can you watch her starve or freeze to death, you sentimental fool?" Hissed the madman.

The other old man regarded him with a regal serenity, his wrinkled face as implacable as a statue.

Angered, my kidnapper stormed off the platform in a flurry of robes, slamming the door forcefully behind him.

Silence stretched between us for several long moments, interrupted only the wind howling savagely around the tower and making me shiver. I moved closer to where the old man sat, he seemed to be in deep thought. "I'm Ellie, did he kidnap you as well?" I asked.

"I suppose he did," he smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. His whole body seemed to be tense and his concentration on something other than our conversation.

I noticed he had still not told me who he was. "What's your name?

"Most call me Gandalf," he replied shortly, "Gandalf the Grey."

I frowned at the odd name but I had more pressing questions. "Do you have a phone or any way we can call for help?" I asked desperately.

He gave me a strange look, "No," he said, as if he were speaking to a slow child. He shifted, occasionally looking out to the horizon, but his eyes did return to me with a curious glint. "From where do you hail?"

It took me a moment to decipher Gandalf's archaic way of speaking, "Ealing, west London," I replied.

His brow furrowed in a way that reminded me of a look long-standing resident doctors made when an intern gave a bad diagnosis. "Is London a kingdom?"

I stared at him, wondering if he was as mad as my kidnapper, he was certainly dressed for the part. "No," I replied, "the city of London, the capital of England, you've heard of England, right? We're speaking English!"

There was no comprehension in his face. He stroked his beard, looking everywhere but at me, pontificating as if I had said something profound. Whenever I did manage to catch his eye, there seemed to be slightly droopy-eyed look I had made myself so many times - whenever I was given an interesting chart with a truly terminal diagnosis. I felt the stirrings of panic, but I quelled them quickly, either Gandalf was mad as well or... I didn't know, I didn't want to consider other possibilities.

"Mayhap we can continue this intriguing conversation later, Mistress Ellie. It is past time I leave," he paused for a moment, seeming to weigh his options, "and I think you should join me." Apprehension on his part was more than apparent at this prospect.

Gandalf was strange... and a little grumpy. I didn't completely trust him, but I liked my chances of making it home a lot better if I was able to get off the tower. I barely hesitated to accept his offer. "Alright, how are we going to do it?"


	3. Chapter 3, The Eagle

Gandalf pointed in the direction of the imposing mountains and at a steadily growing speck, it looked like bird, but at the rate it was growing it had to be, at least, the size of a bear...

"Oh my God..." I whispered, taking several steps back.

It was indeed a bird, and a monstrously huge one at that. Within moments it landed on the edge of the tower, its beak was level with the top of Gandalf's snowy head, meaning it towered way above me. Its sharp talons scraped lightly on the stone as its dark eyes took us both in.

I did what any sane adult confronted with the sight of a humongous eagle would have done.

I fainted.

For the second time that day, I awoke with an old man leaning over me, he was almost as annoyed at the first, but he helped me up. "Come now, I know this is a lot to take in, but we really must make haste." He urged me gruffly.

I stood with his help, eyeing up the eagle, bizarrely it seemed to incline its head in greeting. "Gwaihir has agreed to carry us to safety."

Something heavy settled over my shoulders, I smiled tentatively when I realised it was Gandalf's cloak. "Thank you."

"Well, yes… let us get going." He said clearly a little nonplussed.

"So, we have to get on it?" I asked nervously.

The eagle clicked menacingly and I backed away again.

"He doesn't take well to being referred to as an it." Gandalf commented mildly.

"I'm sorry." I said hesitantly, feeling a little sheepish.

As Gandalf helped me onto the back of the giant eagle, I calmly decided that neither Gandalf or the other old man were mad, they were simply figments of my imagination. I must have had a psychotic break walking to work, that was why every time I tried to remember my mind shrank back from it. I was quite impressed that I was imaginative enough to come up with giant eagles and such a beautiful landscape, it was a shame I couldn't have made myself taller or prettier.

"Now grip onto his neck feathers, but don't tug too hard." I obediently threaded my hands through the thick brown feathers, feeling the warmth of Gandalf's body as he clambered onto the eagle behind me, hooking his legs over the join between Gwaihir's feathery body and wings. I should have found our closeness awkward, but I was sat on an eagle with very little separating me from a seemingly very real and very high drop, which would definitely result in my horrible, splattery death were I to fall. I remember thinking my mind was cruel to me, and wondering why couldn't I have woken in a kinder place than this.

Without warning, the eagle pushed itself off the tower, for several terrifying moments we dropped like a stone. I may have screamed.

Then, with a great wrench Gwaihir flapped his wings, the rush of air that had been so strong as we had fallen downward lessened; it felt like he was dragging us higher with every downward stroke of his great wingspan.

The ground far below streaked past at a dizzying speed which seemed to increase with every beat of Gwaihir's wings, and when the freezing rush of air on my face became too much; I buried my head into the eagle's neck for shelter.

As we flew, my initial fears melted away, and I watched the ground slip by beneath us, changing with every great wing-stroke as I rested my cheek on the eagle's neck.

Soon, the snowy mountains began to loom close, and the eagle slowed and began to circle slowly downward, his great wings allowing him to glide until we landed on an icy ledge. To the west, the sun was sinking slowly in the sky, casting everything in twilight. Stiff from the freezing air, I slowly uncurled my hands from Gwaihir's neck feathers and slid off his back with Gandalf's help.

"Thank you," I said, my bare feet already freezing from the contact with the snow.

I felt the oddest sensation of my mind being brushed gently by feathers. You are welcome. And then the sensation drew back leaving me slightly disorientated for a moment.

There was a clatter of rocks above us and another eagle landed haphazardly next to Gwaihir. I didn't faint this time, I had long since passed my threshold of strangeness and the presence another eagle merely made me glance at Gandalf in askance.

"This is Mîw, Gwaihir's youngest daughter." Gandalf introduced. "We must travel further yet and she will carry you the rest of the way, Gwaihir was not expecting to carry another passenger when he came to Isengard."

The new arrival was smaller than Gwaihir and her colouring was several shades lighter, she patiently bore the larger eagle gently running his beak through her feathers with an almost resigned look.

Her landing was less than encouraging but by now my bare feet had almost gone numb from the cold and the ledge offered little shelter from the icy winds. Mîw bent her scaly knees and allowing me to climb onto her back.

I felt the strange brush of feathers in my mind again, though unlike Gwaihir, the communication didn't form words I was simply given the impression of greeting and her excitement to be involved.

And then we were airborne, I don't know if the takeoff was smoother because Mîw was younger or if Gwaihir had been struggling right from the start to carry both me and Gandalf, if it was the latter I was glad I hadn't known at the time. My feet felt numb with cold, I tentatively pressed them into Mîw's feathers and she let out a small screech of annoyance. "Sorry." I mumbled, deciding that cold feet were much easier to cope with than an angered giant eagle.

The wind whipped my hair as we flew, weaving our way through the taller peaks and watching the smaller ones move beneath us in a blur. Gandalf and Gwaihir were ahead, the large eagle's graceful wing-beats propelling them both through the freezing night sky.

_Race?_ The word was tentative but carefully formed, accompanied with the familiar sensation of mental communication with the eagles.

If this wasn't real then I may as well enjoy it. "Sounds like fun." I replied, shouting over the wind and thinking it as hard as I could, unsure if the mental link worked both ways.

I was given the fleeting impression of fierce joy, and then Mîw seemed to almost launch herself forward in the air, beating her wings powerfully.

Her exhilaration swamped my own emotions, we were flying, every flex of her wingtip altering our course as we sped through the mountains. I looked behind and saw we had left Gwaihir and Gandalf far back in our wake and I felt Mîw's delight, we dodged around mountain tops with barely feet between us and the icy rock, testing Mîw's speed and ability to manoeuvre to its finest point. It was wonderful and terrifying making my stomach lurch in excitement and fear, it was better than any rollercoaster.

We began to slow. I sensed Mîw's disappointment that our fun had to end and I mirrored it; my earlier fears seemed faint in my mind but it was becoming difficult to differentiate between Mîw's thoughts and my own. In the distance, I caught sight of buildings nestled into a valley, bright light shone from the windows making me shiver with longing thoughts of a warm bed, Mîw found the concept downright odd so I was certain that thought at least was totally mine.

We were descending rapidly now, I could make out swirling black water in the night and then thankfully we skimmed over it, Mîw came to a sudden halt and I was flung into a graceless heap on the ground.

Mindful of my relative lack of clothing I scrambled upright, wrapping the cloak more tightly around my shoulders to conceal my bare legs, I felt Mîw's apology as Gandalf and Gwaihir landed without incident.

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**A/N: Please take the time to review and let me know what you think :) also for more information on chapters, updates and Tolkien-y posts follow the fic on tumblr. HealingHandsFic tumblr com**


	4. Chapter 4, The Horseman

The sky had taken on a rosy tinge by the time the eagles left us, Mîw had been reluctant to part but after several impatient beak clicks from Gwaihir she had taken to the sky and become an increasingly small speck on the horizon next to her father.

I turned to look at Gandalf, "What now?" I asked, feeling the beginnings of trepidation.

"I must go north-west, but first I need a good horse." He looked away and when he turned to face me once more, he had changed. The only way I can describe it is that he both looked like himself and not, after scrutiny his face made my head ache and my eyes lose focus. He also held himself completely differently, gone was the tall unyielding figure to be replaced by an old man bent with age. He winked at me as I gaped.

"How did you…?"

"I will go into the city and see how far Saruman's grasp has stretched. However, I'm afraid you will have to wait for my return." He said, leaving me a little confused.

"Here?" I glanced around, the 'city' was perched on a hill with a large thatched building at the very top. I would have called it a town at most. Beyond that the flat plains stretched into the horizon and close by were dozens of mounds, covered with white flowers.

"I am sorry Ellie, I will not expose you to Saruman if I can avoid it. I have heard dark rumour concerning the Golden Hall and must see if he holds sway over the King of Rohan."

He left me amongst the mounds. I sat and watched the steadily rising sun, glad of the warmth it offered, it was the first chance I'd had to be alone with my thoughts, to take stock of what had happened to me. It already sounded like fantastical bedtime story but was it some sort of mental breakdown? Frowning to myself,I ran my fingers through the tough grass, it all felt quite real but then… delusions felt absolutely real to the person experiencing them.

There was usually a trigger though. I chewed on my bottom lip absently, perfectly sane, albeit tired, medical students did not simply slip into a fantasy world. I had been a little stressed but not massively, I strained trying to remember what I had been doing directly before I had woken up in that tower.

I was jolted from my thoughts by the wicker of a horse. I blinked and turned around; seeing a man half slumped upon a horse I hurried to my feet. "Hey, are you alright?"

He stared at me blearily. "Who are you? What are you doing amongst the resting places of my ancestors?" He demanded in accented English, though his fierceness was undermined somewhat when he almost toppled from his horse. His blonde hair was matted and sticking to his face and he was clearly injured. I supposed that the sword he wore at his hip marked him out as some sort of soldier.

I went to him, a quick touch of his forehead showed that he didn't have a fever. That was something at least. The man's mount stood patiently as I made my inspection, displaying more common sense then I would have ordinarily attributed to a horse. I had to get him out of the saddle but it was going to be hard, I wrapped my arm around his waist, tugging as the horse went down on its front knees.

"Oof." I muttered as bearing his sudden weight forced the breath from my lungs, the man groaned and tried to gain his footing and help me as I laid him out on the ground as carefully as I was able.

"What's your name?" I asked, checking his eyes, they were alert, meeting my gaze and focusing on my face. It was a huge relief. Without my medical supplies I was unsure how much I could help this man.

His shoulder was badly swollen and dislocated and there was a cut on his leg which had been poorly stitched with the wound gaping and dirty in places though thankfully not showing signs of infection.

"I am Edric son of Cynebald," he made to sit up and I helped him, propping him up on the slope of the mound.

"I'm Doctor Pierce..." I introduced, falling into a rhythm of handling a patient without really thinking about it, I quickly added. "Call me Ellie."

"Doctor?" He seemed to roll the word around and consider it for a moment before frowning at me. "What brings a stranger to Edoras?" He asked, suspicion still written across his face. "We rarely see outsiders in these dark times."

"I was brought here, I don't exactly know how but I can assure you that I mean you no harm. How did you get in such a bad way?"

He hesitated and seemed to decide that I posed no immediate threat, that or his shoulder was hurting too much for him to argue with me. "I was riding with the Rohirrim, the Westfold mountain villages have been suffering from raids recently so we went to their aid. We were ambushed by Hillmen and one of our number lost his life." If he was saddened, he only showed it in a slight clenching of his jaw. "I was the most badly wounded, I have no choice but to ride to Edoras for the aid of a healer." He glanced at the town perched on the hill with foreboding.

"You don't want to go?" I asked, following his gaze.

"The King has changed in these past years, increasingly he doesn't not seem to know friend from foe. He doesn't trust his own oathbound Riders."

I felt a stab of worry for Gandalf's sake; I hoped his disguise was good enough. "I'm a healer," I offered. "I might be able to help you."

His eyes flicked to my bare legs, half concealed by the cloak. "A healer?"

I helped him with his shirt, amidst mutterings that he was sure this wasn't entirely proper for a woman to do, I probed the joint carefully and found my initial diagnosis had been correct, the shoulder was dislocated but too swollen to be put back in. "Did they already try to put this back."

He nodded through gritted teeth and I went on to examine the cut on his calf and the crooked stitches.

"This is badly done, the wound needs to be cleaned and they'll have to come out."

He looked a bit sheepish, "I did them myself on the way."

I was stunned at the barbarity. "I see," I felt my mouth thinning into a line of disapproval.

He laughed, "You are a healer, I'd know that look anywhere. Or a mother… where's your husband, lass?"

"I don't have one," I sat back on my heels pondering the best way to cleanse his wound and reduce the swelling with such limited tools at my disposal.

"Did you lose him? It's Gondor you're from, aye?" I glanced up from his leg to see the sympathy in his warm blue eyes.

"No… I've never married; I haven't really had the time to meet someone." My tone was a bit terse, it was a sore spot, something me and my mother had managed to clash about in every conversation.

"I see," he said, though he was plainly trying to be polite. I reconsidered my impression of his age placing him as younger than me, perhaps twenty or twenty-one.

"I think we're going to need campfire," I said, changing the subject.

By the early evening, Edric had helped me start a small fire with some of the dead grass and dried horse dung. It wasn't a pleasant smell in the least; but I was able to sterilise his needle and thread and stitch his leg. Using a strong alcoholic beverage; I had managed to clean the wound, however Edric had been less than pleased at my new use for his last flask of it.

The presence of my patient had made Gandalf even more crotchety upon his return. Edric had hailed him with a mixture of respect and fear, clearly Gandalf had some sort of reputation. When he had settled down by the fire they had gotten into an in-depth conversation of the state of affairs in the Mark, and its King, Théoden.

"He barely agrees to audiences with anyone these days," Edric said as I sat down and listened to them talk, chewing on some tough, salted meat which I prayed wasn't horse. "The last Althing was overseen by his advisor, Gríma." Edric said with a significant raise of his brows.

It meant nothing to me but Gandalf sat back a little, his face grave. "Disturbing news indeed. I am all the more determined to enter the Hall."

"Can you save him? Can you bring him back to himself?" Edric asked.

Gandalf's face was distant again; I was starting to recognise it as him worrying.

"Perhaps," was all he would say. With the benefit of hindsight and a longer acquaintance I think that I can say with certainty that Gandalf takes a perverse enjoyment in being mysterious.

**A/N: Thanks to my beta, Out of Books. Please review :) and for more information on chapters, updates and Tolkien-y posts follow the fic on tumblr. HealingHandsFic tumblr com**


	5. Chapter 5, The King

I slept badly. My mind turned over the events just before I had awoken in the tower, yet always shying away from something important at the last moment. I was given flashes, something glinting in the darkness… and a man but then nothing more.

When I awoke I wasn't tired but my emotions felt raw, I snapped at Edric when he complained about the cold compress I had made him wear on his shoulder overnight.

"I'm sorry," I said as I inspected his shoulder, "I didn't have a good night."

"You learn to make the plains grass your bed quickly enough if you're exhausted." Edric said with a small smile.

"I'd rather have a bed though," I rested my hand on his chest and gripped his arm with the other, keeping my movements casual until last moment.

"Wouldn't we all- Ah! Skíta!" He shouted, pulling free of me. I sat back as he swore vehemently in something which sounded like German.

"I didn't want you to tense up," I said when his shouting lapsed into dark muttering. "Let me see."

He stared at me warily, very much resembling a wounded lion with his hair shining golden in the sunlight. He relented and allowed me feel his shoulder, it was back in its socket.

"You'll have to wear a sling for a few weeks," I informed him, distractedly appreciating for the first time just how handsomely toned he was without his shirt. Gandalf coughed and I felt a flush creep up my neck, I hurriedly turned away and busied myself by wringing the water out of the kerchief I had used as a cold compress.

"I'll return to the city today as myself," Gandalf announced, a little unnecessarily. "Ellie will you join me, or would you prefer to stay with Edric?"

I got the feeling that in his subtle way, Gandalf wasn't just asking about a few hours. If I stayed he'd leave me to get on with my life here. I glanced back at Edric before shaking my head, "I'll join you." Gandalf seemed to know what was going on; he was my best chance of getting home.

We parted from Edric within the hour, he was ashamed that he had very little money to offer me for my healing skill but when he brought out a spare pair of riding leggings for me, I was delighted. I rigged up a sling for him and watched with concern as he rode away, though truly I need not have bothered; the man was clearly born to the saddle.

The walk to the city was slow but it gave me time to think. "Gandalf," I started quietly, "do you think I can get back home… ever?"

"I know not, Ellie." Gandalf said.

I opened my mouth to berate him about being so unhelpful but he stopped me with a sharp glance, "I've never seen anything quite like this before, your _fëa_ and _hröa_… your body and soul are not quite right but it's all too unsettled to make any sense of."

I stared ahead at the city feeling quite miserable. "My family is going to be so worried if I don't get back soon."

Gandalf remained silent, though I felt not entirely unmoved by my plight.

Getting through the gates had been relatively easy, though the stink of human waste and decaying rubbish had made me want to gag. I breathed carefully through my mouth until we had moved far enough away from the timber walls and into the town. It was quite a primitive dwelling, at least to my modern view, with homes constructed from wood and thatch, some of the most basic houses simply made of turf.

We quickly gathered a string of curious children following us, they never quite got with arm's reach and they dodged between the houses, calling to us in their own tongue and laughing. Gandalf watched them from the corners of his eyes as we walked, his whole countenance softening and his mouth even twitching into a smile. When one child dared to get close enough and touch Galdalf's robes he whirled around dramatically, sending the children skittering in all directions as his booming laugh followed them. I felt a smile of my own creep onto my face, a little levity had been sorely needed and I found myself trusting Gandalf more when I saw how he liked children.

The smile soon disappeared though as we approached the most magnificent building of the settlement. It was a very large hall with a roof of thatch which had taken on a faded golden hue, each support was elaborately carved and brightly painted, depicting stylised horses, dragons and other creatures which I didn't have a chance to examine more closely. I supposed for such a city, this building was its crowning glory and I could appreciate the care and attention to detail which had gone into embellishing everything in sight when all the other homes were so simple. I found myself painfully missing my little flat in Ealing, which was a world away from this.

We were stopped at the door by two armoured guards, one of them speaking harshly in the same tongue as the children. I caught one of the words, 'Théoden' the King that Edric had mentioned but beyond that I was quite lost. Gandalf replied to them in their language, his voice commanding as he drew himself up to full height and they conferred before one entered the hall, leaving the other to stand awkwardly guarding the door, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

The other man returned. "The King will not receive you, Gandalf. Gríma Wormtongue says that he is too tired to grant you an audience." He was shamefaced but at least speaking in a language I understood.

"There is some of the generosity of the great Eorlingas! I still recall the golden days when visitors were welcomed in common tongue, with grand feasting and warmth." Gandalf said, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Those days have passed, Gandalf the Grey." The other man said. "We shall not see their like again."

He had found a weak link in the soldier who had entered the hall; he clearly quite wanted to contradict the orders of Gríma. "Go then… you won't have long." He stepped aside as his comrade gaped.

We entered the hall; Gandalf took huge strides which I had to break into a small jog to keep up with. Everything about the hall spoke of disuse and past greatness, a sad air of emptiness lingered everywhere. There were long tables with benches laying empty and cobwebbed, a grand fire pit with only cold scattered ashes within. In the gloom of the hall I didn't see him at first but most wretched of all was the man who sat enthroned at the end of the hall. His eyes wandered with the unfocused gaze of dementia and his clothing was dirty and faded, he had the look of a man who had shrunken in his own skin before his time. I had seen it happen to elderly people on my hospital rotations, perfectly fit one week and then struck down by some illness and left as mere shadows of themselves.

A man stood at his side, he was ugly, his dark hair hanging lank and his face pinched and gaunt. His eyes darted between us. "Who allowed them in?" he demanded, his voice nasal and weak. His hand rested on the King's arm in a possessive way, it was both protective and disturbing. I didn't like the look of him one bit.

Gandalf ignored him, "Théoden King, I come to you to in the spirit of the generosity of the great Kings of old, I need a swift horse to take me on an urgent errand." There was a compelling quality to his voice and the King's clouded expression cleared a little, he seemed to take in his words.

"Guards! Guards, remove them now!" His voice had taken on a shrill tone, it was almost pathetic to see but the way he tightened his grip on the King's arm, hard enough to make him grimace lit a small ember of anger within me.

The guards came slowly, clearly unwilling to obey his commands. "Yes.. yes be gone." The feeble king agreed. "Take a horse, any horse."

That was all Gandalf had wanted but clearly the encounter troubled him. He swept from the hall before the guards could seize him and I followed, glancing back to see Gríma whispering in the King's ear and staring at us venomously. I held back a shudder and turned away, feeling a surge of helpless anger for the old man.

We didn't remain in the city, having clearly outstayed our welcome, we began walking out across the plains in what seemed to me to be a meaningful direction. "Where are we going?" I asked. We had already passed a grazing horse which seemed friendly enough.

"Edric spoke of a horse which was as noble as the Mearas of old. I mean to find it."

I sighed quietly and followed him, it sounded like a needle in a haystack but then apparently I had nothing better to do.

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**A/N: Thanks to my beta, Out of Books. Please review :) and for more information on chapters, updates and Tolkien-y posts follow the fic on tumblr. HealingHandsFic tumblr com**


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